


one million voices (but i only hear you)

by fanficloverme96



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Banter, Hotel Room Sex, I like listening to Ben Whishaw's voice, I wrote 00Q for the first time, M/M, Q gets kidnapped once, SO, doesn't he ALWAYS gets kidnapped, romance (somewhat), yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficloverme96/pseuds/fanficloverme96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ONE-SHOT: 007 has an unusual (is it? he doesn't think so) fixation towards his Quartermaster's voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one million voices (but i only hear you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [声也无尽，我独闻君](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273806) by [yunmucho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmucho/pseuds/yunmucho)



Throughout his life, James Bond (007, mostly; his name comes second, always has) hears a lot of voices.

Different kinds.

He hears them everywhere he goes.

He is sure he has most of them memorized.

* * *

 

He hears M’s voice always in the form of growling.

He hears them through his earpiece, as he jumps from building to building, dodging fist after fist, detonating bomb after bomb.

“For goodness’ sake,” says the growl in his earpiece. “That’s the fourth building you blew up today.”

“Cannot be avoided,” replies Bond, cheerful even in the midst of a gunfight. He hits a man at the back of his head and the body slumps at his feet.

“I swear, you better not mess this up or I’ll fly over there and kill you myself,” another growl during that one mission in Bali. Bond is running this time (isn’t he always, though?), through the marketplace and onto the crumbling balcony.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” is all he reply before stabbing a man right in his heart.

* * *

 

Moneypenny’s voice is soft and kind, yet with some underlying fierceness.

He hears the seductive whisper she makes during those quiet moments in hotel rooms when she is sent to deliver him something.

“Don’t even think about it,” she laughs, stopping Bond’s fingers from unbuttoning her shirt.

He does, though.

He hears her scream, once or twice, not often enough to call frequent, but not rare enough to call seldom. He is lying on his back, with the sun glaring at him. There is blood everywhere. He hurts.

She is screaming at him.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she says.

He would not worry. He is excellent at resurrecting.

He hears her sigh in relief when he wakes up in the hospital a few days later.

* * *

 

But the one voice he enjoys hearing the most is that of his Quartermaster.

Funny.

It seems so effortless to refer that young boy (no, _man_ ) as his. He assumes this is because it is true.

 _His_ Quartermaster.

He likes the sound of that.

* * *

 

“Quit staring at me, 007,” says Q, his tone on the edge of irritation.

“I’m not staring at you,” replies Bond. He is, though.

Q sighs (a soft one, almost weary), and continues with his work. He ignores Bond for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

“This is…” says Q again, one Saturday afternoon.

In his hand, there is a white mug with the words  ‘Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one,’ painted at the side of it.

Bond bought it in America a few days ago. He remembers passing a gift shop as he continued his pursue on his target and saw the mug being displayed.

Q is the first thing he thought of.

“You like drinking tea. And you have been using the same mug for nearly a year,” he says simply. He waits for some sort of retort, maybe to deny the ‘nerd’ part of it all.

“Thank you,” is all Q says, his voice the usual quiet one. However, there is a hint of genuine gratefulness in his tone this time.

Bond commits it to memory.

* * *

 

He receives orders almost every day.

From M, from Moneypenny, even from Tanner every once in a while.

But Q’s orders are the ones he loves receiving the most. Even if he does not follow some of them half the time.

He is in Italy, in a quiet restaurant, drinking expensive wine. His target this time is a woman. A pretty redhead with stunning grey eyes and a petite body.

One would not think that she currently holds a flash drive containing information that could potentially destroy England from inside out.

“Do not mess this up, 007. You have only half an hour,” Q orders, his voice (wonderfully, is that even possible, though?) stern.

It is distracting, honestly speaking.

Bond ends up losing the woman in ten minutes.

“Go after her, goddammit,” Q growls.

“I love it when you’re all commanding,” Bond replies nearly teasingly.

Q ignores him for the rest of the mission.

Bond gets the flash drive in the end, anyway.

* * *

 

Bond (007, 007, 007) hears him slur once. Or twice.

It is a rare occurrence for Q to get drunk.

He does, though, when he is extremely stressed; even tea could not help him, this time.

Bond gets a phone call in the middle of the night. He looks at the number and blinks.

“Come get me,” is the first thing he hears when he answers. Q’s words are (almost) comically slurred. Bond smiles in the darkness of his apartment.

“You’re drunk, Q,” he replies. “You should think of your word choices.”

“Fuck you,” Q says before he hangs up.

Bond remembers those two words and the way Q says it; all low and somewhat trippy, and repeats them in his mind like some sort of a twisted mantra.

He picks Q up and lets him sleep in his apartment for the night.

* * *

 

“So this is how it feels like to die,” Q groans the first thing in the morning.

Bond (would he call himself James during these times) chuckles into his tea cup. “Ah, hangover. Can be a pain. Annoying as hell, too.”

“Sounds a bit like you,” Q smirks as he accepts his own cup of tea.

“I try.”

Q laughs slightly and Bond blinks for half a second.

That is new.

He likes it a lot.

* * *

 There is that one time when Bond hears Q scream in absolute pain.

He remembers the smell of gunshot.

The darkened room.

The blood pooling around Q's slump figure on the floor.

He does not talk about it often.

He refuses to remember it. 

* * *

 

Bond is on the verge of nodding off that one night in Bangkok.

“Don’t sleep on me just yet,” Q says as he strides into the hotel room.

Bond wakes up then.

“Hacking into the security system again, Q?” Bond asks, walking towards the young boy (man, not boy.)

Q rolls his eyes. “Stealing a room card is sufficient enough.”

“Never quite took you for a crook,” Bond smiles.

“I prefer the term sly,” Q smirks, flicking Bond’s forehead when he catches him staring at him. Well, mostly his lips but he does not need to know.

Sly, indeed.

* * *

 

He does not know (or remember if he does) how it happened, but the feeling of lips trailing kisses on his neck does not rise any curiosity.

Dark, tousled hair tickles his chin as the man continues kissing down his neck and all over his collarbone. Bond bites back a groan.

He flips him over so that he hovers over Q, taking in the dark eyes and the bruised lips.

He kisses him hard and deep.

Q moans.

Bond remembers.

* * *

 

And when they finally fucked; hard, rough yet gentle at the same time, with the wet sounds of slapping skin, Bond focuses on the way Q groans and whines at the friction, the hurried whisper telling him to go **_harder, deeper, faster, oh god, don’t stop_**.

And when Q finally comes, he keens, all high and beautiful.

Bond (James, now, not 007, not Bond) has never felt more satisfied in his life.

* * *

 

There is one thing that James (not Bond, not 007, not this time) loves hearing Q say with his voice, all soft and quiet, that one morning in Venice several months later.

* * *

 

“I love you, James.”

“What?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

* * *

 

He does, though, in the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote 00Q for the first time... *hides*


End file.
